A Mother's Role
by LadyPirate13
Summary: Julia Anderson's first role is mother. And if filling that role properly means changing her role of wife. then so be it.


Yeah so its been awhile friends.

I must say I'm sorry for not doing anything for a long time.

So I hope this helps out.

This is complete and total blangst and Anderson drama. I first want to do a complete show down between mrs. Anderson and mr Anderson. But then I got thinking as to why it took so long for her to stand up to her husband. And this was born. So its like 3 am now, so if there is anything you see that's completely and totally wrong, just let me know, and I'll fix it. Creative criticism is welcomed but flames are not.

Enjoy

A mother's role

She hears it, the yelling.

The yelling that she's heard for years it seems now.

The yelling that bellows and rips at you, stripping you down to your most venerable layer, and leaving you exposed to world. Even though near the end of it makes you feel like the smallest and loneliest thing, huddling there on the floor.

And it's not even at her that these words are screamed at.

When it first started, there was another voice added to the yelling, high and distraught with confusion and pain. But it's a voice that hasn't risen back in some time.

But she begs for it to, for it to scream and yell and punch with the words that so desperately want to be said. But they don't, they hide there right on the edge of lips as the searing words continue throwing punches and stabs that leave far worse wounds then any hand, knife, or bat.

As a mother, Julia sees her as a protector, a nurturer, a stabilizer. When it comes to her children, her babies, she would take any knife or bullet that comes their way.

But words? Words weren't her forte, never have been. Being a dancer most of her younger life left her with only her actions to act upon, the words to back them up never came to her. When the yelling was at its benign levels when it was just the slurred word here and there thrown into conversions, she would physically but herself in front of her flesh and blood. Stand there and take the insult instead and gently put her hands on her baby, her youngest and try to convey her love to him. To say that those words from that man, that man that once held and rocked, and quietly sang to that small boy when he was much smaller, where not her own. That she loved him, and will stand there blocking out the harsh words with gentle touches and caresses, with freshly baked cookies and hugs, with loving smiles and sweet kisses to his head. Trying to express with all her being that she was there, not some stationary object that's there for looks, a role she has slowly fallen into over the years. No longer as the role of _lover, friend, compainion_, but just as _wife_, in the most basic of terms. Nothing more to the man that once held her heart with gentle fingers and kind smiles. The heart that was no longer kept in the hand or pocket, to be held and cherished throughout the day, but to be put out on the shelf. Either as some sort of prize, or simply forgotten and was placed there to make room for meetings and suits and business calls.

Julia's first role was that of _daughter_, that soon became _wife_. A role she performed with love and care. A role she prided herself with. Not long after that she was blessed with the role of _mother_.

A role that was made for her, and took over her heart and soul.

But when she was blessed once more with that role, with her youngest child, with that curly hair much like her own, she saw the changes. Slow and just peeping over the edges as the years past. Seeing that her role as _wife_ became more of obligation then that of want, she saw that her role of _mother_ must be that more important, that she must tenfold her effort.

But living her life through actions and gestures and expressions, the words that most dearly need to be said, be yelled, load and strong, choked in her throat as she held first her youngest flesh in blood and then that of her oldest too. When her oldest, her little tiger, finally saw and heard what was happing he, being his father's son, found the words that needed to be said. But all that lead to were broken hearts and split lips. She watched her oldest, her baby, her little man, that wasn't so little anymore, apologizes over and over again as he left the house that was no longer a home. Leaving behind a childhood that wasn't perfect for a life that wasn't much more.

When he left, her little man who wasn't so little anymore left, the words seem to stop. That along with any and all actions from the man that played the role of _father_.

Now the only actions left were Julia's. Her hands touching her little lion's, her babies' cheek as he past her in the hallway. Her arms as she held him on his first day at a new school as they tried to shield the old words and pains away. The only actions left were the soft, torn, loving eyes of a mother who tries her hardest to protect her son.

Hits and pushes and jabs she could block or take. But words were never her forte. They avoid her, like fireflies at night hovering just out of reach, teasing with their glowing warmth and soft light. Julia was never a tall person; she could never reach all the fireflies as a child.

But now she hears the words that resonate throughout the house and in to the kitchen. The words that have been tip toed around, and implied but never really said. The words that last time were let go caused one boy to leave his role as _son_ to one parent and apologies to the other as he walked out the door.

_Worthless…_

_Disappointment…_

_Disgraceful…_

Words that Julia has been fight with her touches and smiles and kisses, and half whispered words that never form complete thoughts or sentences

_Faggot._

She hears it crisp and clear as the bell that hangs on the back porch that she used to ring at dinner time to call in her boys.

_Her boys…_

_Her boy…_

_Her little lion cub._

There it hovers just out of her reach, taunting and flashing and begging to be picked out of the air. She reaches out.

And she grabs it.

Something primal and dangerous and physical claws are her throat and hands as she grasps at the words that want to tumble out of her mouth. But she knows she only has a precious few to use before they run out. Leaving her once again with only her touches and smiles and baked cookies.

She leaves the pan crashing into the dirty water. Leaves the kettle shrilling and screaming on the over top. Leaves her fears and nightmares and worries, as she walks, _stalks_ out of the kitchen. Leaves one role behind as she fully embraces the one role that matters most now, that has always mattered most and leaves the other in the small pile of dust and lent sitting by the back door. Forgotten.

Julia has her firefly small and delicate in her hand as its light fight the hold of her fingers.

Words have never been her forte. But that doesn't mean she can't grasp them.


End file.
